


Blunders and (happy) Beginnings

by effulgentcolors



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humor, Older Captain Hook | Killian Jones, One-handed Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Period romance, Pining, References to Jane Austen, Romance, basically everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effulgentcolors/pseuds/effulgentcolors
Summary: The result of too much Jane Austen and associating everything with Captain Swan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any period inaccuracies, let me know what you think cuz I’m excited and most of all enjoy!

Such stories tend to start with a lengthly chapter or six that have no other purpose but to introduce the characters’ affableness (or lack thereof), fortune (or lack thereof) and current ambitions and desires (which, we must all know, no one can be accused of lacking). But for the benefit of the characters, rather than the reader, who are much too eager to start their pursuit of those aforementioned ambitions and desires, we will constrict those chapter or six into the following few paragraphs and pray to not be accused of anything harsher (such as laziness or neglect or simply a short span of attention) than having our characters’ best interests at heart. So, without further ado, let us be acquainted with:

_Lady Ingrid Chillton of Arendelle_

Affableness. Undeniably high as proven by her having taken under her protection not one, not two but no less than three orphaned girls. Admittedly, all three of good fortune, high status and perhaps even greater beauty and higher intellect, and yet with the undeniable defect of being all about the same age and thus certain to need and engage all her Ladyship’s careful attentions (and nerves) in their coming into society, meeting all the right people and being pursued by all the best of those – all at more or less the same time.

Fortune. Enough to make her Ladyship more than perfectly comfortable without ever even entertaining the idea of matrimony and yet perfectly able to encourage the entertaining of that very idea in any young ladies of her acquaintance.

Ambitions and desires. To promote the already heavily hinted at, most felicitous marriages of all three of her charges but to maintain the highest degree of elegance and non-obtrusiveness while doing so.

_Miss Elza Froster of Arendelle_

Affableness. Satisfactory, thanks to her perfect manners and education, and only slightly impaired by being more than occasionally accused of accute reserve and the art of ‘chilling people to the very bone’. It is only fair to note that those accusations have most often been submitted by her own sister and only very rarely by her aunt. But, again in the interest of candidness, it should be pointed out that most other people are suspected of being too affected by her cold manner to dare comment on it.

Fortune. Sizeable as can be expected of the eldest daughter of a late baron and baroness. Further benefitted by being one of the three aforementioned charges of Lady Ingrid. And yet further by her family’s most favourable name and history.

Ambitions and desires. To avoid the fulfillment of the ambitions and desires listed under her aunt’s name without causing her too much disappointment.

_Miss Anna Froster of Arendelle_

Affableness. Indisputable, aided by an exceptionally lively and cheerful disposition. At times faulted for taking ‘cheerfulness’ to the level of ‘impropriety’. But this mostly by her sister and one might suspect mostly to repay the slight injury to the latter’s own affableness.

Fortune. Refer to the information provided under Miss Froster’s name and take into account her absolute resolution to share all blessings with her sister equality, while distributing any burdens rather unevenly and in no way to the misfortune of Miss Anna.

Ambitions and desires. To have everyone in a good humour at all times. Perhaps to meet a suitable match and that preferably in the most romantic and somewhat dramatic of circumstances but mostly to be in good and abundant company at all times and promote her sister’s happiness (and somewhat manage to reconcile the seeming impossibility of those two occurring at the same time).

_Miss Emma Swan of Misthaven_

Affableness. Questionable since she has proven to possess neither manners as refined as Miss Froster’s, nor disposition as pleasing as Miss Anna’s. But in order to be fair to Miss Swan’s character, it must be said that she also possesses neither the former’s alleged coldness, nor the latter’s alleged impropriety. However, she has been sentences by those same ladies to an alleged ‘prickliness’. A verdict that no other acquaintance has gone to great lengths to disavow.

Fortune. Comfortable and one she has wished numerous times she could replace for still having her parents with her.

Ambitions and desires. To completely, once and for all, erase the adjective in the ‘poor Miss Swan’ address which she has been on the receiving end of ever since losing her parents at 4 years old. In addition, to convince her friends and guardian that she does _not_ crave a home of her own (and the husband attached) above all else. And, lastly, and only to herself and even that very rarely, to recognize that perhaps she wouldn’t mind falling into those most romantic and somewhat dramatic circumstances Miss Anna always talks about.

_Mrs Mary-Margaret Nolan of Enchantings_

Affableness. The most genuinely affable person one has ever met – being the most devoted daughter before her parents’ death, the most unaffected creature while encouraging the attentions of her future husband, the most resolute woman in ignoring her stepmother’s displeasure with said gentleman’s meagre fortune, the most capable mistress, loving wife and, since recently, indulging mother ever since.

Fortune. Of no importance, she will say with a benevolent smile. And, yet, it is known, that the truthful answer is – one of the largest in the country.

Ambitions and desires. To promote in everyone the absolute felicity that she has found with her own self-proclaimed True Love and, when possible, to encourage the dissolution of the institution of loveless marriages. And, more specifically and most recently, to find the path towards her intimate friend Miss Swan’s happy ending (and shove her on it).

_Mr David Nolan of Enchantings_

Affableness. Second only to his wife’s and possessing the added advantage of having no relations with great pride and pretentions and having been raised in a home unaccustomed to unnecessary pomp and circumstance.

Fortune. Insignificant in quantity before his marriage and still insignificant now in the role it plays in his happiness and good humour.

Ambitions and desires. To be forced into unpleasant and condescending company as little as possible (especially that of his step-mother-in-law). To fulfill each and every one of his wife’s ambitions and desires and preferably without having to draw his sword on any of Miss Swan’s potential suitors.

_Captain Liam Jones of Jewel Hall_

Affableness. Much higher than expected from a man who’s spent so many years at sea, undiminished but somewhat restrained by a slight over-politeness of manner but even that only on his first few meetings with a new acquaintance before giving them the benefit of his genuine warmth and good humour.

Fortune. A tad smaller than expected from a man who’s spend so many years at sea, generally attributed to his overly generous nature and rather spontaneous, if not unwise, manner of making any and all arrangements.

Ambitions and desires. To fix up Jewel Hall and tame those spontaneous displays, that his self-aware nature has made perfectly noticeable to himself, by finally settling down. And yet to avoid feeling tied down by such settling. And, above all that, to restore his younger brother to at least some degree of his previous cheerfulness and affableness.

_Captain Killian Jones of Neverland_

Affableness. Lost, as hinted by its presence among the older Captain Jones’s ambitions and desires. Said to have existed at one time in his life but hardly traceable in any of his interactions but those with his closest creatures (a list limited severely to his brother and his dog Smee and very occasionally admitting the presence of Mr and Mrs Nolan).

Fortune. Undeserving of notice and consisting almost entirely of his rather small estate. In part due to the captain’s lifelong lack of interest in accumulating such a fortune, in part due to former years of imprudent, one may even venture to say destructive, habits, in part due to his current lack of need for a larger fortune, explained by his insufficient interest in keeping much company or engaging in many (or any at all) leisurely activities that involve more than a book or a gun.

Ambitions and desires. To always have just enough to do about Neverland as to successfully avoid his bother’s and the Nolans’ schemes for the ‘promotion of his happiness’ and to promote said happiness himself by a never failing supply of good books and equally good rum.

 

Now it is unwise and unfair, and altogether not sensible at all, to presume that this miniature exposition is to be the whole of our gallery of characters for the future. But as they have already seen it fit to run along and start making progress on achieving their wishes or rather going back on them and contradicting everything we have just learnt, we are forced to leave off here and quickly get at least a glimpse of their current situations so as to not be entirely too shocked when we catch up with them next.

 

“Upon my word, Nolan, you would be the best shot in the country, if you’d actually aim to kill something.”

“Mary-Margaret doesn’t like it when I bring in birds.”

“Then, by all means, give them to me, but do not go wasting bullets like that,” grunted the younger Jones as he hosted his gun over his shoulder one-handed. “It’s shameful.”

“You are one to talk, little brother. I remember a certain vixen last week-“

“I’m your _younger_ brother and she had little cubs. I’m a sportsman, not a-”

“What’s shameful is that you didn’t even need me to specify that I was talking about hunting.”

Captain Killian Jones shot and didn’t miss. Much like he hadn’t all day. Then he lowered his gun and turned to his brother so he could have the full benefit of his less than impressed visage and rolling eyes.

“And it is not at all shameful that you would like to have your brother in the company of a woman that has earned herself such a title as ‘vixen’?”

Captain Liam Jones continued cleaning the gun he had barely shot on their little party and raised his own eyes to the heavens in exasperation.

“If you’d spent a little less time in the company of books and a little more in the company of, oh say, people, perhaps you wouldn’t attach yourself so to my precise wording and will instead comprehend my meaning.”

“Ah, but you see, the very reason I prefer books to people is that I can shut them up whenever I please.”

At this the older Jones was left with little to do but shake his head and cast a half-amused, half-suffering glance at Mr Nolan. A look which made up a great percentage of his expressions when in the company of his brother.

“I say we head back now, Nolan, I can’t manage him when he gets like this. And, if experience is to be believed, Miss Swan might be the only one who can shut his book.”

“Oy!”

 

 

“Miss the ball! For shame, Emma!”

Miss Emma Swan tried to huff and mutter as quietly as possible. As strange as the sight of five respectable women, three of which with bows and arrows in their hands, was, Emma had learnt the hard way that Mary-Margarent’s back-garden-turned-shooting-range was not a place for petulance and bad manners even if it was a place for mastering a deadly skill.

“When is the last time I missed a ball? Surely you can manage without me this once?”

“Are you feeling unwell, my dear?”

Lady Ingrid’s sweet but predictable reaction came from the side where she and Miss Anna were enjoying what at this point Emma was sure must be a ball-threatening quantity of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“I’m quite well, ma’am. I simply do not feel like it.”

“Not feel like it!” exclaimed Miss Anna with the level of disbelief that only she could demonstrate after having known Emma and her decided lack of excitement for balls for all her life. “You are a pretty woman of 24 in possession of a good fortune and a bareable temperament. Balls are given to make you ‘feel like it’!”

“’Bareable’ temperament?!”

Emma swung around, bow in hand and arrow drown back, towards Anna a bit too quickly for Mrs Nolan and Miss Froster’s comfort.

“Aaaand I believe this is enough practice for today,” announced Miss Elsa with self-imposed cheerfulness as she extracted the weapon from her closest friend’s grip and handed it to their hostess. “An absolute pleasure as always, Mary-Margaret.”

“Oh, I’m most happy you don’t find it too extravagant and have been so kind as to join me. David gets tired of shooting at unmoving targets so fast. Or so he says. Captain Jones will assure you that he simply gets tired of having me best him every time. Indeed he has good aim but a bow doesn’t seem to agree with him quite as much as a gun.”

“Much as I hate to align myself with Jones, on any subject, I’m certain he is in the right here, Mary-Margaret. But could we maybe return to that moment in time when dearest Anna here classified my temperament as ‘bareable’ and none of you bothered to correct her.”

Four pairs of amused eyes turned on Miss Swan and gave her such pointed looks that she felt like she had turned into one of Mary-Margaret’s practice targets. Finally, it was Miss Anna who decided to have pity and clean up some of her own smear, albeit with a twinkle in her eye.

“I also classified your looks and fortune as ‘pretty’ and ‘good’ and, really, Emma, you know quite well how little temperament matters when those two are so well-provided for.”

This time Emma’s huff was no stifled thing and her sarcastic mutter delivered archly and clearly to all.

“Ah, yes, and it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a husband.”

“In want of a ball, at least!”

“’Want of a ball’! I thought we were to attend just such a thing tomorrow.”

Mr Nolan’s booming voice, along with his wide smile and even wider footsteps towards them, followed by the brothers Jones, dissolved some of the air of stubbornness that had engulfed Anna and Emma.

“We certainly are. It’s just that dear Emma seems to find such an occupation not engaging enough,” Lady Ingrid kindly supplied the necessary information.

“Ah, of course, she does! I know how it shall be now. We shall all go to the ball and have a jolly good time and her and Killian will have a contest in who can find the thickest book and the darkest corner where to hide from all society.”

It is certainly a testimony to the closeness and tight bond between all the persons present (despite the Froster sisters and the Jones brothers having known each other a mere month) that Captain Liam Jones’ comment was received with nothing but easy smiles and deep chuckles. Except from his brother, who suddenly found his hostess’s targets, that he had shot at hundreds of times, absolutely fascinating and thus forced Miss Swan’s eyes to bounce off his back as they darted around and settle challengingly on his brother’s.

“My conduct compared to your brother’s! Congratulations, Captain Jones, you have found the way to secure my presence at this now too-talked-of ball.”

“Fortunate us! Perhaps I can use my momentum and secure the first two dances as well, Miss Swan.”

“How sly of you! Alas, you are much too aware that I never secure dances in advance. It gives people much too great a power over one’s enjoyment of the evening.”

Liam sketched her an exaggerated bow, admitting his defeat.

“Now, Killian! Your brother has persuaded Emma with his usual tricks and wit. You must allow at least equal power to my hope and sincerity.”

Killian took another second to admire the ruffled feathers before pulling out the arrow that protruded straight from the center of Mrs Nolan’s target and addressing the lady herself.

“Indeed it is much greater,” he admitted with a tight smile, making something of a show of presenting Mary-Margaret with her arrow. “For your ‘hope’ you know I have no taste and little understanding but your sincerity I can never doubt and thus, unfortunately, never convince myself to refuse you.”

“Your sacrifice will go down in history I’m sure, Captain.”

Killian whirled around to face and respond to the blonde who had made the biting remark.

“There is, of course, also the need of presenting the conduct in opposition to which Miss Swan will base all of her own.”

The miss’s conduct at the present moment looked like it would not be all too favourable to him but, fortunately, this was much too apparent (and expected and not at all out of the ordinary) to everyone in attendance and David and Liam wasted no time in pronouncing themselves famished.

Lady Ingrid proceeded into the house with all her girls following suit, Miss Elsa having taken some considerable pains to convince Miss Emma to let Captain Jones have the last word ‘just this once’ and taking her arm to prompt her to take her eyes off the back of his head while he had gone back to his self-imposed task of retrieving Mrs Nolan’s arrows.

It was only this last lady which did not immediately follow the rest of the party into the house but advanced rather in the opposite direction.

“Just so there’s no doubt – I fully appreciate and recognize the compliment of your sacrifice, Captain Jones.”

Killian’s eyes moved first to the small, snow white hand on his shortened left forearm, wondering for a second at the fact that these delicate fingers had imbedded the arrow he was grasping in his right hand so deep into the target that he had to put quite a bit of strength into pulling it out, and then looked up into the kind green eyes that took all the sting out of the horrid term ‘sacrifice’ and induced it with that sincerity he could never doubt.

“It is why I shall make it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kinda like this but it’s kinda like pulling teeth at times (except the dialogue, the dialogue flows :D). Sooo hope you are enjoying it!

A public assembly, Miss Emma Swan decided years ago, was an occasion for one to be either extremely agreeable or completely disagreeable. And this particular dance in Storybrooke, on that particular night, she could, with only some little trouble to herself and some possible offense to others, arrange in those exact two categories.

**The agreeable**

_Miss Emma Swan_

At the very start of the evening Miss Swan herself was prepared to be extremely agreeable indeed. And the reason, for the most part, lay in the expression on Captain Killian Jones’ face when he entered the rooms.

If betting was an appropriate pastime for young ladies, she would’ve bet her fortune, her honour and the very gown she was wearing that there had never been, nor will there ever be, a more reluctant and ill-disposed man to cross that threshold.

Now, contrary to what a large part of their intimate acquaintance might believe, Miss Swan merely took pleasure in outwitting Captain Jones and none at all in causing him pain. But they had been acquainted two years now – due to her newfound, and his longstanding, friendship with the Nolans – and she had not once seen Jones at a ball, nor heard it talked of him attending one or having ever done so. Though she knew the last one to be impossible, for a man could hardly be the brother of Captain Liam Jones and the close friend of Mr and Mrs Nolan and never attend a ball (nor could he likely find a wife without doing so and she knew that he had had one of those some five years ago).

So, on the whole, Miss Swan was much too thrilled at the prospect of finally seeing the captain make such an appearance, and even more so at his obvious reluctance, to think about being anything but agreeable. Truthfully, she rather thought Captain Jones responsible for putting her in such a good mood and thus responsible for the unforeseen progression of her evening.

But that could wait. First she had to admit into her club of agreeableness the person of

_Captain Liam Jones_

Cunning as always, he still managed to impress her with what she perceived as nothing short of pure genius.

Owning to his recent return to land, he had almost no acquaintances in town outside of their party. And of that party Lady Ingrid, despite being far from an old lady, rarely danced (much too eager to encourage others to do so instead), Mrs Nolan knew far too many people to be limited for partners (should she choose to dance) and Miss Anna could not be thought of before her older sister was provided for (but when that moment came she needn’t be worried about in the least). This, Emma later realized, had left only her own good self in between Captain Jones and Miss Froster, as she had been much longer acquainted with Liam than Elsa had.

But, of course, the sly man had found a way around it, asking her the day before when he _knew_ Emma was certain to refuse him. Oh, she would think herself fanciful and ridiculous, if it wasn’t for the speed and self-satisfied manner with which Liam approached Miss Froster minutes after making his entrance and solicited her company, bemoaning the cruel manner in which her particular friend (and this with a most pointed and not at all regrettable look at herself) had refused him the day before. Emma would’ve liked to tell him that she was much too happy to be rid of such a partner, who, she knew, would’ve spent their dances looking for another blonde head around the room.

She could never picture herself shocked by Liam’s scheming and success. He was known for always having one scheme or another in progress (mostly aimed at his brother). He was also known for being successful in all of his undertakings – be them honourable or slightly questionably so. It was indeed the other pair of fine legs in that little dance that Emma was surprised to find so willing.

_Miss Elsa Froster_

If Miss Swan had known her friend not quite so long or not quite so well, she might’ve been fooled into thinking Elsa ignorant of any particular thought or attention on Captain Jones’s part. But she had known her long and she had known her well, and just because Emma had never seen her eyes sparkle quite like that before did not in any way signify that she did not understand the meaning behind the look.

Curious and eager to know, still she was content enough for now to entrust Elsa to the elder Jones and turn her eye elsewhere.

_Mr Hans Islington_

Rather tall, rather handsome, with rather pleasing manners and rather skilled in the Scottish reel. And for all his most promising rather’s, Emma remained unconvinced.

Indeed she had been blamed many a time, and each one unfairly so, she would claim, of a distrustful nature, a most unforgiving temper and a quick manner of forming her many opinions. To the temper and manner she might submit but her nature she must fight for and defend. She believed it was no inherent distrust of all of mankind but a most pressing feeling deep inside that could not and, she had firm belief and some not unimpressive experience, should not be ignored.

And that telltale feeling told tales of Mr Islington’s not quite so absolute trustworthiness, or worthiness in general, despite his indisputable presence among the most agreeable people in most rooms he entered.

And yet, how could Emma pass judgement on a gentleman who had been most properly introduced to them by a cousin of Lady Ingrid’s and had asked both Elsa and Anna to dance, giving precedence where precedence was due but showing curiosity and affection where curiosity and affection had been inspired?

How could Emma pass judgement on anyone when her own conduct had shifted so severely throughout the evening?

**The disagreeable**

_Miss Emma Swan  
(and by proxy Mr Neal Gold or the other way around)_

Oh, Emma did not care for pomp and ceremony but she held (even now, even after such an evening) that she did care about propriety. Perhaps not quite as much as Mrs Nolan and Lady Ingrid and perhaps not quite as successfully as Miss Froster and Captain Jones but she cared none the less. Which is probably why, when faced with her own failure to uphold it, she was so willing to fling her ire where it was probably least due.

“But, oh, if Killian would’ve just come off his high horse this one time!”

“Emma!”

Elsa’s eyes had been blazing with reproach ever since she caught Emma’s eye on the dancefloor hours ago and now, in the privacy of her room, she let it be known in every word.

At that moment Elsa’s hand had been in that of Mr Nolan – a respectable, married man as we well know, a close friend, one of the kindest souls that ever lived, and Emma’s – in that of Mr Gold – a cheerful-looking, young man who not one of them knew the first thing about, who had no qualms about asking Emma to dance, despite not being introduced and having never spoken to the lady before in their lives, had no qualms even about retaining her hand for not one or two but three dances. And Emma… Oh, dear, impulsive Emma.

“Well, it’s true! What was I to do? Refuse a perfectly amicable young man and sit there by myself like some old spinster?”

“You were to refuse a perfectly imprudent stranger and sit out a single dance in the company of my aunt.”

“Oh, you have such a way of making me sound positively horrid. As if you all behaved so handsomely!”

“I will not pretend to know what you are talking about, Emma, but I do not see how comparing your actions to those of others makes them any less reprehensible.”

Emma felt a little shudder go up her spine despite herself. She was well-acquainted with Elsa’s cold condemnation but she had so rarely had it turned on herself and never with quite such a force. For a second, a precious moment in time, she had the thought of folding, admitting her fault and asking her friend’s forgiveness and advice.

But Emma was so quick to jump when squeezed into a corner that she often leaped right over those treasured moments of could-have-been reconciliation.

“You need not pretend for I am perfectly willing to tell you what I mean. Mary-Margaret and David were quite tranquil in abandoning us all the minute we walked in and your aunt would suffer twice as much and twice as strongly over any of us sitting a dance out as we ever could.”

“Oh, Emma-“

“And Anna! Why should I be judged for dancing with a gentleman that asked me, while everyone is making a Mrs Islington of her already!”

“Because the gentleman in question is known to the family and was properly introduced and still restrained himself to the proper two dances with my sister and all this you know perfectly well.”

“Oh, proper and perfect! Don’t talk to me about proper and perfect, when you know how properly and perfectly Liam arranged it so he could have you all to himself.”

Something inside Emma swelled with triumph as she watched Elsa’s mouth fall open the slightest bit and her friend drew back almost on instinct.

“There was nothing improper in mine and Captain Jones’s-“

“No, indeed. As I said it was all proper and perfect and all the more transparent for it.”

And at this Miss Froster had nothing to respond, yet Emma’s triumph did not grow on seeing the faint blush that had never been present on her friend’s cheeks before. In a recess of her mind, she recognized that in another night just like this she could have delighted in it and teased with the best intentions and encouraged with the happiest phrases.

But tonight was a night when the soft pink in the one usually so reserved chilled something in the one always flaming.

“But then no one looks to the side when they are happy with what they see in front of them.”

Elsa opened her lips to parry her friend’s bitter tone, her ire having softened at the mention of her own tender success and now completely melting as sympathy sneaked between the cracks. But Emma would not be placated now.

“And Jones! Why, you are so quick to condemn me but where is your displeasure with a man who shows to a ball to do nothing but tempt and tease, to torment with his presence when he has no intention of…”

Elsa’s brows creased in confusion as her friend struggled to order her words or, perhaps, as she finally realized what words were coming forth. She drew near again, getting the end of a muttered “just to torment me indeed”, before she was faced with Emma’s tired face and sad eyes.

“Berate me again tomorrow, will you?”

“Oh, Emma.”

Elsa’s arms went around her, finding her like a ragdoll as first but slowly, reluctantly Emma’s arms came round her as well.

 

“You are aware that you are 34 and not dead, are you not?”

“I have put in the effort of attending one of those blasted balls you always prattle on about and this is the gratitude I have to show for it?”

“It hardly counts when your feet were so firmly rooted to that one corner the whole time, Killian. Wait. I have it, little brother! You don’t think yourself dead but merely a tree. Tell me I have got at it at last!”

The younger man turned his attention back to wracking the coals in the fireplace between them.

“Come now, you have to tell me, if I have guessed it… What?... Would you not even speak now?”

“I know you have been quite long from land, brother, but need I remind you that trees do not speak?”

“Ah, no, indeed. But then again, you would’ve quite burned up, were you made of wood. What with the glares Miss Swan was throwing you all evening.”

Killian abandoned the fire in favour of turning his back on his brother, taking off his coat, rolling up his sleeve and tackling the task of removing his prosthetic.

“Surely you could’ve asked her to dance at least once, Killian.”

“I’m confident there is no shortage of gentlemen eager to dance with Miss Swan.”

“Yes, indeed. Strange fellows with grins too big for their faces. Miss Froster was not too impressed with her friend for that one. Nor was anyone else, I believe.”

“Ah, the collective society of Storybrooke taking grave offense at a young woman daring to enjoy herself at a dance.  May we never let her forget her folly!”

“I believe-“

“And I believe you care a bit too much for what Miss Froster thinks, brother. Should I remind you of your own age?”

“ _I_ have not decided to retire straight from the seas to an empty house and a dusty library and _I_ see no objection to a good ten years or so between a man and a woman.”

The younger Jones felt his lips tick up despite himself.

“Aye. And you probably shouldn’t. A dusty library would be so tormented by your constant pacing. And who cares really about the age of your face when your head is likely still that of a boy of 17.”

“My head I shall defend from your cheap shots! But upon my heart you may take aim all you wish, brother, indeed it is not much older than 14, I believe.”

“And already shot down, I’d say.”

“Well, I hope I’m not that far gone so soon, but I see no harm in it, if I were.”

“No, I thought you wouldn’t.”

“I see no harm in someone aiming for yours as well.”

Killian’s laugh was terse yet genuine.

“It is not worth the bullets, I assure you.”

“An arrow then, perhaps.”

The silence seemed to make Liam’s voice quieter, more sombre. Or perhaps it was the tone of his voice that made one notice the silence and lent it such a tangible feeling.

“Truly, Killian, next time I shall accept no faux excuse for you behaving so at a ball.”

“I do not remember giving any promise to attend another.”

“You shall.”

“And if I do, I must be the single person in possession of the most excuses to behave just as I have.”

“Distant and disagreeable?”

“Disinclined to dance.”

“Oh, are you claiming to be a tree again?”

“Merely not under 30-”

“And put to shame by gentlemen twice that.”

“A widower-“

“Which, much like 34, is not equal to being dead.”

“And I believe you are meant to handle a lady with two hands on a dancefloor.”

“Ah, but you need just the one to make the offer.”

Killian shook his head and chuckled darkly, he was not to come on top tonight and he knew it, his best plan of action would be to retreat for the night.

“Goodnight, brother.”

“And I’m quite confident no more will be required.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Liam.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to the people who left me feedback, it helped a ton in getting me to whip up this chapter in an afternoon!

Verdicts passed and vows made in the wee hours of the night seem to dissipate much like the morning dew when enough sunshine has shamed them back into the realm of those late hours when our defenses are so much lower and our tempers so much easier to excite.

Whether Miss Swan realized that, and counted on it as she made her way down to Lady Ingrid’s breakfast table, is something of a mystery. But one thing is for sure – she must have worried herself about being the beacon of attention into a state far beyond what was required, for Miss Anna Froster probably couldn’t have contained herself from taking over that role even if asked to do so. And, thankfully, no one made such a request.

And thus, while she went on about Hans Islingtons’ rather handsomeness and rather tallness that Emma (and probably everyone else because people characterized by their tallness tend to have that effect on others) had observed the night before, her aunt was free to enjoy the glow on her cheeks and the eagerness of her quick, and often unfinished, phrases and had only to ask her, from time to time, to take a breath and a bite and so got to enjoy her hearty appetite as well; her sister got to enjoy much the same things with much more composure and some reserve, while at the same time contemplating the exact number of days she had to wait to start probing Emma with questions about Captain Liam Jones so as to minimize the chances of her friend’s teasing her for it; and Emma got to breathe easily for the first time since she had woken up and decided on pretending that the previous evening had been much like any other evening, and thus got the chance to forget for a bit her own self and to immerse herself in Anna’s obvious giddiness and Elsa’s which she was probably thinking everyone oblivious to.

“I have decided what we shall do today!”

Elsa’s surprise had more to do with Emma’s enthusiastic tone than the words that had come with it. Emma was no stranger to knowing precisely what she wanted to do and leaving the fewest opportunities possible for others to intervene with her wishes or control how she spent her time in any way.

“Have you now? Aunt and Anna have been not five minutes out of the door in their badly veiled pursuit of further intelligence about Mr Islington and you have already formed a scheme for us as well?”

“If you must know, I was hard at “scheming” while we were at breakfast and Anna was describing the precise shade of Mr Islington’s eyes for the fourth time.”

“Emma!”

“I swear, this will be my sole commentary on that “predestined meeting, scribbled in the stars”.”

“And yet.”

“Oh, well, my only two then. Would you like to tempt me away from quoting your sister by learning how your time will be occupied today?”

“Am I to be nothing but a listener in this story of my immediate future then?”

“I suppose you can contribute some of your stoic brilliance as well, if you would just uncross your arms and stop pinning me to the wall with those fine eyes the exact shade of-“

“Oh, do save us both and just reveal your wicked little plan, will you?”

Miss Froster had perfected a particular visage for those exact situation, a perfect arrangement of her features that communicated to Emma that she was listening carefully and agreeing to nothing as of yet. But she did let her arms drop to her side (for all the good that it did when they next came to rest firmly against her hips at Emma’s pronouncement).

“We are to intrude on Mr and Mrs Nolan and take the bothersome captains staying with them off their hands.”

“How kind of us! Yet, I’m afraid, you will be challenged by their prior engagements, for I know that Captain Jones is to look over some potential hunting grounds with Mr Nolan and Captain _Killian_ Jones is to help Mrs Nolan rearrange her library.”

Emma waved her hand dismissively as she was already making her way around her friend’s room and preparing her for a day among nature.

“You underestimate Mary-Margaret’s desire to have Jones breathe something other than book dust and, what better way for Liam to mark some good hunting spots but a nice, long walk?”

“I’m quite sure this is not how-“

“Elsa. Do you wish us to discuss the fact that I’m positive I saw you sniff Captain Jones’ shoulder during your second dance las-“

“On second thought, the weather _is_ rather wonderful today!”

And thus, with only some foul play on Miss Swan’s part, we could have seen those two ladies make their way out of Lady Ingrid’s residence and in the direction of the Nolans’ without any further interruptions.

But when interruption is meant to appear, it has the most precise timing of all forces. Relief delays and dawdles endlessly, Destiny forgets its hat three times in the least and Serendipity sometimes never even makes it out of the house but Interruption – Interruption you can count on when you least want it and should thus the most expect it.

Today, for Miss Swan and Miss Froster, Interruprtion came in the shape of Mr Neal Gold, who – it would appear – had finally decided to honour at least some customs and call on his partner from the night before.

It is unclear to the unenlightened observer, if he had meant to see her or merely leave his card but it is safe to presume that he had not meant to quite literally run into her and even less so to be the one more thrown off balance by the small collision and the one in need of a pair of stabilizing hands.

Yet, there they were. Miss Froster’s eyes quite wide, Miss Swan’s hands on their could-have-been guest’s shoulders and Mr Gold’s mouth hanging open somewhat endearingly, somewhat unflatteringly and quite sheepishly.

“Ah, Miss Swan! I was just-“

One of Miss Emma Swan’s multiple peculiarities was that she had caught wind of Relief and Destiny and, especially, Serendipity’s fickleness and thus had no patience with them. And she had, in her hasty way, lumped poor punctual Interruption along with them and had very little tolerance for it as well.

“Oh, yes, of course! Very kind of you to call but – as you can so clearly and perhaps, somewhat painfully – are you quite alright? Yes, well, as you see, we are on our way out so perhaps we will have the chance to meet again at some other time. Not quite so suddenly.”

Mr Gold either had no experience with being so dismissed or was still somewhat stunned by the form in which their greeting had come. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. We do not care much and neither seemed to Miss Swan.

So with a “Splendid! Have a lovely day!” she reached for Elsa’s hand and tugged her around the still flummoxed gentleman on their doorstep.

 

“I suppose I must thank you for taking such a weight off my shoulders.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at Captain Killian Jones, who was walking a couple of feet to her left and a solid twenty paces ahead of the rest of their party, which consisted of Miss Froster and Captain Liam Jones – souls for whose ankles Killian held some justified concern, based on the way they failed to observe anything in their surroundings but the presence of the other.

“I know you have set a trap for me and yet I shall walk into it. What does that make me?”

“In the hunting terms you have adopted – a very intelligent yet easy prey.”

With a non-committal hum, Emma debated the prospects of her being prey and the very real possibility of her being the hunter.

“So what _have_ I unburdened you from?” she asked eventually, taking the bait, true to her word.

“Well, seeing as you have followed in my brother’s meddling footsteps, I no longer feel such a pressure to do so myself. Not that I ever had the least intention or potential for it.”

“’Meddle’ is such a harsh word, Captain. You do me and your brother both a disservice.”

“On the contrary, Miss Swan. While I have no taste for it myself and find it rather testing in others most of the time, I cannot help but somewhat admire people who can meddle effortlessly and, what is more, successfully.”

“Don’t you go and jinx me now, Jones,” Emma glanced behind them with a tentative smile. “Besides, better to meddle harmlessly with others than make blunders of my own.”

If Emma had made a list of topics which she wished to discuss with Captain Jones, it would have been extensive and excluded few things. One of which she had just dragged out of the woods herself and laid down at their feet to trip over when the day had been progressing some smoothly.

She feared no one’s consternation, yet she most certainly did not enjoy Elsa’s and she somewhat expected David’s but the one that had her stomach all in knots was certainly, embarrassingly but undeniably, Killian’s.

A glance at the man in question showed his profile in the early afternoon light, not quite brooding but definitely thoughtful. Not quite provoking but definitely breath-taking. It ushered Emma into a memory she was all too happy to entertain and let take her away from the present moment and any possibility of her trampling further into a conversation she was most eager to avoid.

Miss Swan had met Mrs Nolan on her very first visit to Storybrooke and from then on the place and the woman herself were entangled together in her mind as one warm, sweetly welcoming whole. It was the quickest true friendship Emma had ever cultivated. Indeed she had no notion of even having planted it properly when Mary-Margaret was already offering her its fruits. It seemed that no time had passed between receiving her very first undeniably-kind-and-well-meaning-yet-unnervingly-personal-and-perceptive question and meeting Mr Nolan.

And while she loved Mary-Margaret with every part of her, even if some of those parts still couldn’t quite believe such purity could exist, it was her relationship with David that had progressed into something almost parental – a kind of trust and solidity that Emma had only ever found in Ingrid and yet never quite with such an undercurrent of understanding that the Nolans' gifted her.

And then, one June morning, about two years ago to her reckoning, at the Nolans’ breakfast table, Emma had set down her fork, turned to the door that had just burst open and thought that perhaps all her acquaintances at the Nolans’ were meant to surpass each other in intensity and defy all her expectations and resolutions about being a politely uninterested member of society.

 _Impression 1 of Captain Killian Jones:_ the handsomest man Emma Swan had (back then and still at the present moment of her recalling that memory) lived to see.

Then had come the startled blue gaze, the brisk assessment of her person, the thinned lips and the perfectly civil and even more perfectly cold apologies and introductions.

 _Impression 2 of Captain Killian Jones:_ the rudest man (perhaps a somewhat hasty assertion but in no way entirely and resolutely disproved for another couple of months at the least) Emma Swan had lived to meet.

But then, of course-

 _Impression 3 of Captain Killian Jones:_ the smartest man (and thus, as he himself had once put it, “quite the challenge”) Emma Swan had lived to banter with.

“People like calm waters because they can swim in them. Yet no one admires a small spring like they do a waterfall.”

Emma shook herself back into the present, where the light was still making Killian appear warmer than she had known him to be in those two years she had been acquainted with him. Or perhaps that was the influence of his brother’s presence. Or perhaps-

“On the whole,” Captain Jones continued calmly, talking to her and to the horizon at the same time, as if giving her the opportunity to take what he was saying to heart or leave it in the dust beside their path. “I have come to believe, like many others before me have and many more will, I’m sure, that we regret so many things we didn’t say or do, that we have hardly any time to regret the ones we did.”

If you have ever spent an afternoon walking a forest path, you’d know how the light plays between the leaves even more than the wind does, how it bounces and teases and _deceives._ You’d understand why Emma, already caught off guard by seeing Captain Killian Jones’s smile, albeit a small one, for no more than the fifth time in her life, was dubious whether or not his gaze truly had flickered to her lips when he had turned to her.

And if-

“Oi!”

Ah, Interruption. Just on time. As always.

Captain Jones’s hand flew to the back of his head as Miss Swan’s none too happy gaze flew behind them and it gave her little satisfaction to see Elsa’s elbow make contact with Liam’s arm.

“Apologies, little brother,” his voice boomed strong and coated in mirth from quite a distance away. “But we must know, if we should stop here, from fear of losing our hearing after some point up ahead that you and Miss Swan seem to have crossed.”

Despite his huffs of displeasure, Killian turned around and, offering Miss Swan his arm, led them back towards his brother.

“I believe we wish to make our way back no more than you do but, alas, we must, for Mrs Nolan will be expecting us all for dinner and you, dear brother, still have half a library to arrange.”

Were the older captain’s teasing less apparent, his brother might have taken some offense. As it was, he and Emma overtook and surpassed the other couple with only a single comment.

“I know you are not greatly acquainted with them, Liam, but books generally tend to remain where you’ve left them.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s that Jane Austen CS AU you have (not) been reading *g* This chapter is from Killian’s POV, maybe a bit darker but it was time we got a glimpse of his inner workings as well. So hope you enjoy!

Contrary to what most people throughout the ages have said, believed, set on paper or even, on occasion, experienced firsthand, Captain Killian Jones never believed nights to be the time and place where loneliness lurks, bids its time and lunges at unsuspecting gentlemen and ladies alike, thinking themselves safe in the comfort of their library or bedchamber.

Killian, to his surprise as much as the reader’s we are sure, has rarely come to know this dark face of the later hours. No. Nights are too calm for all that – all light dimmed, all sound shushed, all conversation ceased and all social ‘graces’, that lacked the very essentials of grace (frankness and sincerity), stripped away.

Loneliness did not have time enough to sneak under his threadbare sleepshirt and sink into his weary heart when his bones were so heavy, when his head was already sunk so deep into the pillow and he was miles and miles from the overeagerness of his brother’s nudges, the overagreeableness of his friends’ conversation, the overrichness of ink on bills he still had little habit of dealing with and would probably never acquire any, the overheaviness of the contraption he strapped on his left forearm every morning with barely a shuffle and took off every night with an exhausted clang and a curled lip.

No, indeed, nights were somewhat safer for Killian Jones than most writers wrote them, with much softer tones than most painters painted them and much shallower sounds than most musicians played them. Safer in their being an end and not an unknown and unpredictable beginning, softer in their being dulled by tiredness and insensibility, shallower in their being too shrouded to need to dig deeper for even denser shadows.

For him, the evil was to be found in mornings. In their crispness, the sharp colours, the bright and painfully distinguishable forms, the strong and freshly unearthed smell, the rejuvenated and unrelenting birds’ songs.

For him, all the weight of all the loneliness in the world managed to squeeze itself into a couple of seconds, into two drops – if drops it had been – less than a spoonful of sorrow, into a sliver of semi-consciousness, into the _place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming_.

For Captain Killian Jones, the world made contact and shattered into uncountable pieces and then, just as quickly, came back together – a little crooked, a bit bent, a tad not right – in the few blurry and yet so clear seconds when wakefulness tore him from dreams. And it did not matter to him, much like it never matters to any not-quite-incandescently happy person, whether the dream had been a good one or not. It was the stumble, the jarring act of waking up into a world that could be anything – only to discover that it had chosen to be the exact same thing that it had been when you retired to bed the night before – that tore at him morning after freshly-washed but still dirty-grey morning.

It was in that place between sleep and awake that he would reach to the side, curl his fingers only to realize there was nothing – no one – to curl them around, curl his fingers only to realize there were no fingers to curl.

 

On occasion, an occasion occurring much more often than he could admit without some discomfort, Captain Jones considered the indisputable fact that his first meeting with Miss Emma Swan might have and could have gone quite differently, if it had not taken place on a morning. A particularly bright morning when he was feeling particularly justified in shunning that brightness and all sociability and yet found himself forced by promises previously given (extracted from him by an enchanting woman armed with a bow and the most honest and persuasive eyes he had ever seen) to move in the orchestrated manner of sociability and endure the combined brightness of a summer morning and the Nolans’ household.

He might have, when faced with what was nothing short of the ethereal beauty of Miss Emma Swan, bowed longer and deeper, as was his custom when making the acquaintance of a lady who he knew every man with half his wits about him will give a pretty penny to make the acquaintance of. He might have, when confronted with the clear and alluring, almost inviting, greeting of Miss Swan, spared a genuine smile, responded in a way that might have left a door slightly ajar through which a tentative friendship to someday slip. He might have been the kind of attentive and irreproachably police gentleman that his brother had taught him to be. He might have been the kind of engaging and slightly provocative man that he had taught himself to be after he had firmly made his way into society.

But he hadn’t been any of that for much too long by then and he had not done or thought of any of those steps into propriety, let alone potential friendship, for even longer.

So all he had managed to be was dazzled and all the more discontent for it.

After that first meeting –

_Discontently dazzled by Emma Swan_

\- things have progressed steadily without bringing Captain Jones much more comfort.

 

Miss Swan, because hair spun from pure gold and eyes made of inimitable gemstones was not sufficient (no, not nearly sufficient enough to torture only one of Killian’s senses), was also sharp as a whip, witty and entertaining to a fault, and determined to always have the last word (a vice of which he himself was in possession and which, to double the strength of the impact, he was quite fond of  as well).

_“You refuse to go because there will be a number of people there?”_

_“There will be a_ large _number of people there. My idea of a pleasant time, incomprehensible as it is to our benevolent hosts, does not, in fact, involve having trouble in securing a place for one to stand, let alone sit, and coming in forced contact with virtual strangers at a criminally frequent rate.”_

_“Goodness, Jones, you don’t like crowds! Just say you don’t like crowds. Or people for that matter.”_

_“I quite simply do not-“_

_“No, I beg of you, I’m starving! You can turn “I dislike people” into a three-page manifesto when I have a plate of roasted potatoes and some of those birds you brought in front of me.”_

Killian knew that she was unwilling to have anybody one up her yet she seemed particularly against letting him do so. Thus, time and time again, he found himself –

_Willingly outsmarted by Emma Swan_

 

And Emma, being _Emma_ (which he tried not to call her – not even in the private recesses of his mind where he occasionally allowed himself the privilege), didn’t draw or play the piano. No, of course. That would be too “proper and _set_ ”.

(It was a phrase of hers – “this is too _set_ ” and “that is too _set_ ” and “why do they have to be so _set?_ ” and “what would you like my bookshelves to be, Swan? flying all over the place?” and he never quite knew what she meant from one moment to the next with her _setness_ and he rarely dared hope he was not _set_ himself and was mostly convinced he was, in the worst of ways). But, oh, Emma would never be considered _set_ , that much was certain.

She played the harp, and not nearly as masterfully as many young ladies he had listened to, and yet she always managed to make everything else, everything but her capable fingers, recede into an inconsequential blur, just background noise, static that shimmered at the edges of the space she cast her spell over and he always managed to find himself within it, right in the middle it seemed, where her pull was the strongest.

(“it’s like it doesn’t want me to play it.” “indeed, it sounded quite well to my little experienced ears.” “all is well when that thing is not biting into your fingers, punishing you for waking it up and making it exert itself.” “all part of the choice of instrument, no?” “yes, well, I didn’t consider _that_. was thinking how I dislike the way people hover when someone sits at the piano.” “you cannot hover over a harp?” “oh, you can but it is not really done. at least I haven’t seen it. and it is so different if you look up close, if you see its glint from the right angle, it can- come, I’ll show you.”)

She had the most haphazard pattern of reading and, when a party including Emma had been visiting Neverland for a mere afternoon, Killian would not even wonder anymore at finding at least four different books, faces down, pages flung to the side, spines bend and wrinkled, scattered in different corners, different _rooms_ even.

(“you have _so many_. i cannot help myself. i cannot choose.” “exercise some restraint, Swan, some patience and you might enjoy getting to the end of one.” “that’s so _set.”)_

She was a self-proclaimed nightmare with a paintbrush but she danced. He had seen her once but he just knew – the way you know the tide has come in even when you weren’t there to meet it – she danced. Often. When no one was there. Not the way people danced at balls or the way they sway by a piano or the way they tap their foot at a particularly irresistible gig. No, Emma _danced._ And he’d only seen it once and yet it took him that step further –

_Irrevocably enchanted by Emma Swan_

After that he’d been resolute. More _set_ in his mind than he’d been in years. He was not to take that last leap that would lead him into pure madness, into a folly from which there would be no coming back.

And then his brother, the meddler, had gone and ruined him completely. And he’d be so proud of himself, if he knew.

He’d received Liam’s letter mere days after Miss Swan had come back, a month ahead of Lady Ingrid and her nieces, to stay with the Nolans. He’d felt long-abandoned superstitions pressing in on his heart and had yielded under the belief that he shouldn’t share Liam’s pending return until he had his brother himself at his gate at Neverland. He excused himself from making appearances at the Nolans’ with a mild illness and set about preparing his and his brother’s home for Liam’s arrival. He did not account for the repercussions of a prolonged absence after an announced illness. He did not account for Miss Emma Swan.

Yet there she had stood on his doorstep, not even a week after he’d made his excuses to Mary-Margaret. Her hair wild in the wind that had been blowing steadily all day and slightly damp from the rain that had been trying to fall and her cheeks flushed and her chest rising faster than normal from the slight climb that was required to reach Neverland and maybe from something else, something that came along with the breathless, soul-crushingly (that being Killian’s soul) relieved “oh, you are all better”.

There she had stood and her eyes had scanned him almost anxiously, almost… And Killian didn’t think… But then he couldn’t… So he told her about Liam and led her in and showed her his letter and didn’t seem to even grasp at the sheer impropriety and improbability of her being in his house, by herself, because…

There she had stood and then impossibly closer and grasping his hands – one his, one not quite, but did he have time to react when – she was beaming and talking and almost turning him in a circle like little children in a garden with the strength of her hold and the energy of her and –

_Completely enamored with Emma Swan_

Captain Killian Jones had done his reckoning and he decided early in their acquaintance, much earlier than Miss Swan had worked her unsuspecting magic on him, that Emma was the kind of woman that few men could have and even fewer deserved.

And the more she had unraveled before him, the more resolutely could he exclude himself from either list.

Which was a rather fortunate circumstance. Captain Jones had never and would never run the risk of attempting to court Miss Swan, barely even skirt the borders of being more than acquaintances (singular instances, likely prompted by Mary-Margaret’s concern for his health and not Miss Swan's, lending false closeness to their relations being strictly excluded despite having played a devastating part in rooting and nourishing his unfortunate feelings).

They were – him and Miss Swan – to anyone with even the barest knowledge of either – an unlikely pair. And to Killian himself – quite obviously – completely impossible.

It is a rather melancholy note to exit this gentleman’s mind (and heart) on, but I’m afraid we’ve already dwelled here well past the point he, if not the reader, would be comfortable with, and, as we have seen, Captain Killian Jones had very few sources of comfort and it would be indeed abominable of us to remain and take any of what little he has of it


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the slight hiatus but rest assured I do not leave things unfinished so this shall be brought to a (hopefully) satisfying conclusion in the (hopefully) near future.

Yes, yes, we have left our characters to their own devices for rather too long and you can rest assured that they have gotten to all sorts of mischief in those stolen weeks. But before we hurry to criticize and even condemn them and their many unavoidable missteps in the search for fulfillment (or just general enjoyment), let us remember where we left them.

Mr and Mrs Nolan were as incandescently happy as they have been since the very moment they became acquainted, their felicity further aided by Miss Anna and Captain Liam Jones' similarly increasingly high spirits in the days before we last saw them. Let it never be said that the enthusiasms of the heart are not among the best ways of lifting one’s spirits to propriety’s very limit.

Miss Ingrid and her younger niece were each thriving in the glow of the latter's blossoming courtship with one Mr Hans Islington and the older Froster sister – while holding herself back from making any final pronouncements on the gentleman's character – could not help but delight in her sister's obvious happiness. And indeed she could not suppress some of her own, especially when confronted time and again with the sparkling eyes of a certain captain and the growing adoration in that arresting gaze.

Miss Emma Swan was set on turning her back on her own urges and avoiding any further impulsive and ill-advised decisions by focusing on the felicity of two of her closest friends and she was fortunate enough to find them rather willing targets. And let us also note that there is hardly a better way of masking the trepidations of one’s own heart than by hiding behind the loud flapping of others’.

And Captain Killian Jones. The man who seems to have given us the least trouble and thus the most frustration – remaining as we first found him, not unlike the tree exhibit his brother has accused him of being. But we mustn't be too hard on that gentleman, for Captain Jones used to be a man of many journeys in his youth and finding himself now a man of many sorrows has made an unfortunate connection between the two and has come to the inevitable conclusion that the least one risks, the least one is likely to cause harm – both to themselves and those they keep society with – a lesson that goes rather against his very nature but which the world seems to have beaten into him one too many times. And may cruelly decide to do so yet again.

///

Now that we have been reminded of where we were, we find ourselves free to look at where we are. But some precautions must be taken, for the Storybrooke we're about to step into is far from the calm and orderly place we have just remembered. Indeed it is in as much turmoil as any of our characters can ever remember seeing – and much the same can be said about their own good selves.

Our first indication of something being amiss is the very presence of the Froster sisters and their aunt. While Miss Swan is known to be easily persuaded by Mrs Nolan to remain in town for extended periods of time, Miss Ingrid and her other two charges were set to leave a note-worthy two weeks prior. No, indeed, this is an ignorant statement to make and we must be more precise when given the chance to be so – Miss Ingrid and Miss Elsa were expected to depart two week earlier, Miss Anna had been expected by a large and growing portion of her friends and acquaintances to depart even earlier and no longer as a Miss Froster at all. What is more, some doubts and insinuations may have arisen about the status with which the older sister would leave town as well and exactly how far she would be going, seeing as Jewel Hall was much closer than Arendelle.

Such aspirations or fanciful imaginings – as Miss Elsa would name them – seem so innocent now, so pure in their belief in rationality and order and propriety, so very unstable in their very reliance on the stability of society. Such felicitous designs seem to us little more than childish dreams, born of imposed inexperience or willful ignorance, as we gaze upon the scene in Enchantings.

Mrs Nolan, being the perfect hostess and taking the greatest pleasure usually and the greatest comfort at present in attending to her guests, brings two more plates of sweets herself and places one directly in front of Miss Anna. And we know it is a dire situation indeed, if the lady in question does not react to the appearance of chocolates, if she continues to lie on Mrs Nolan's exquisite sofa, her feet inconsiderately buried in one dull pink pillow and her face in her aunt's lap, if her breathing continues to be artificially measured so as to prevent future irregularities and her eyes puffy and red and – for what must be the first time in her 21 years on earth – lacking any sparkle but the one of unshed tears – yes, indeed we should draw the inevitable conclusion that the situation, which we have clumsily and uninformedly stumbled into, is rather of the troublesome variety.

But if Miss Froster's appearance does not satisfy us, we simply have to turn to Mrs Nolan again and observe the way her already tremulous and unusually unnatural smile wavers and falls to its untimely but unavoidable demise, the way her hand and the remaining plate in it tremble with we-know-not-what combination of emotions, the way her husband wraps a protective arm around her shoulders and draws her to his side, stopping himself just short of kissing her head and that just for the benefit of the ladies present and perhaps from a heightened sense of the lack of husbands' shoulders in the room.

And, if still, we remain unconvinced - which seems monstrous, especially in the face of Miss Ingrid's quiet dignity and pain for her niece and the controlled rage that can be seen simmering just below the unfocused surface of her gaze - we can simply set our sights on Miss Elsa Froster and in her countenance, more than anyone else's, perceive what has been made so painfully clear. True tragedy must have struck the joyful company for its most reserved and self-possessed lady to allow her braid to be seen in such disarray, her skin so blotchy and the circles beneath her eyes so very pronounced.

At this point one cannot help but note the absence of Miss Emma Swan among her closest friends and almost family. One cannot help but wonder if her continuous flippancy towards and disinterest in a certain unruly gentleman has been the cause of all this grief, if her near-rudeness and resolute rejection has not somehow provoked an impulsive and immature man or a heartless and vengeful father into some unthinkable action.

One has but a moment to entertain such worries before Miss Swan herself sweeps into the room in what cannot be called anything but a run – her hair loose and her dress not tied quite right at her back, her feet still finding their rightful places in her shoes – on her way towards the front door. If anyone worried about her, it is clear that she is not inclined to grace them with her presence for a longer period of time than what it takes to run from the staircase to the Nolan's door.

Miss Elsa seems to be one such someone who might have worried over her friend and who seems determined to be graced with at least a minute of her time. Miss Ingrid looks like she would have risen to request the same was she not still impeded by the weight of her youngest charge.

"Emma, wherever do you think you are going?"

It is hard to imagine what could possibly have occurred that would make Miss Swan look upon her oldest friend in such a way – the way a storm would most probably look at a ship before wrecking it just for the sake of passing through, if it could do such a thing as see and comprehend. Emma's ability to see and comprehend can also be called into question, seeing how she doesn't pause or truly acknowledge her friend until she has a hand on her shoulder.

"Emma. Please, we need to stay together now. You know there's nothing we can do to-"

"And how, pray tell, do we know that? From sitting around on Mary Margaret's flowery pillows and drinking lukewarm tea?"

The other blonde draws back as if awoken from a dream she was not enjoying but was also unwilling to abandon.

"Liam said-"

"You will _excuse_ my _abominable_ rudeness, Elsa, but to speak frankly, I do not have the slightest interest in what Liam says or thinks right now.”

“He knows best wh-“

“If he knew best, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Miss Swan appears to have thrown all self-possession and regard for others’ opinion out of the proverbial window. And Miss Froster looks more agitated than surprised by it. Her tone is in turn the polar opposite to her friend’s heated words – measured and controlled, quiet and all the more jarring for it.

“This is not the time for displays of rebellion and non-conformity. It is the height of impropriety for you to rush-“

“Oh, like _hell_ it is!”

“Emma!”

“Miss Swan!”

“Let her go.”

It is Miss Anna’s voice that silences everyone although she hasn’t even raised her head from its resting place. We cannot be sure but there’s the distinct feeling that this is the first time she has spoken in a good while. And in a lady of Miss Froster’s disposition that is worrisome indeed.

“Anna-“ her sister is the first to come out of the shock that has settled like the stickiest of dews over the drawing room.

“We all behaved so abominably, Elsa. Me most of all.”

“Dear-“ Miss Ingrid makes the kindest of attempts to reassure her niece but that is just the thing – one cannot be reassured until they are ready to be so.

“It is the truth and no one should say otherwise in my presence. It has been folly after folly and Emma is the one paying the price for it along with-“

“We are all-“

“No. No, we are not _all_ , Elsa, and it does you no favour to pretend otherwise. Are you so much more concerned with the preservation of a reputation over that of a heart? Because, as one who has had both destroyed in so few days, I can tell you I’d forsake the former a hundred times over for the latter.”

Miss Elsa seems to be fighting a battle between the need to reach for and soothe her sister and the responsibility of preserving what is left of her most dear friend’s piece of mind.

But alas, one look at Miss Emma Swan shows us that there is hardly any mind left to preserve and it is all pieces now and they are all flying out of the door before anyone can so much as try to accompany them.

///

We have noted that Captain Killian Jones has, for some years now, adopted the attitude that the least you meddle in matters concerning anyone but your own self, the least harm you would cause to both yourself and others.

Perhaps now is the time to add that – true as all that may be – if forced to make the choice, he would always take the path that brings harm to himself rather than say to a known lady’s reputation or her sister’s or, let alone, his own brother’s honour and physical safety.

Just so that has been made abundantly clear.

///

"Miss Swan, it is the height of impropriety to-"

"My goodness, you two even sound alike now. Congratulations, you make a truly unbearable couple."

Captain Liam Jones' eyes darken and he seems to strengthen and settle even more firmly in front of the entrance to his brother's estate.

"It is my duty as Killian's brother and as you friend, and frankly as the one who has to think clearly in this mo-"

"Oh, you-"

"To maintain the respectability of this house while…"

"While?! While your brother is incapable of doing so? How-" she runs a shaky hand through her already unsalvageable hair. "How can you even think – let alone care – about respectability and propriety right now, Liam!"

"Because those are the things that keep us sane!"

Emma tries not to flinch back at the Captain's sudden outburst. Had she been less affected herself – had her compassion not been exhausted for herself and his younger brother – this might have been the moment she took pity on Liam Jones.

"Those are the things that keep us from sailing straight into the eye of the storm, Miss Swan! The things that keep us from giving into all our basic urges."

Captain Jones takes deep, measured breaths in an attempt to center himself in the present, in this reality that has so utterly betrayed him by giving life to his darkest nightmares. It is not the reality he wants to live in but it is the only one he has now – it is the one he has created and he'd be damned twice over, if he does not take responsibility for it.

"Then look me in the eye, Captain Jones, and tell me how far I have fallen in your esteem because my _basic urge_ is to be at your brother's side no matter what anyone might say."

And it is this it would seem – not waves the height of a dozen men and not the blackest of pirate sails on the horizon but Miss Emma Swan's unflinching belief that nothing is to take precedence over his little brother – that makes Liam Jones lower his head and his shoulders and realize that some forces of nature – residing inside people as they may – are too powerful and all-encompassing to tame. Yet he has to try one more time, to appease his conscience.

"Emma-"

"He might forgive you, if you don't let me in, Liam… Heaven knows he thinks you hung the very stars in the sky and could do no wrong. But, upon my word, I will never _never_ forgive you."

Even the sturdiest conscience such as Liam Jones’ cannot stand in front of a woman, who has emerged from the storm raging around them to do as her heart dictates her to, and not step to the side to let her pass.


	6. Chapter 6

Few men and a single woman can claim to have been bestowed a look of outrage from one Mrs Mary-Margaret Nolan. It goes against the lady’s very character and disposition to hold such harsh feelings beneath her breast, let alone to give them the freedom to see the light of day.

But it is not day now but one of the darkest hours of the night and her breast has been heaving with suppressed emotion for too many of those hours and perhaps that is excuse enough for the way that Mrs Nolan is at present looking at Captain Liam Jones as he stands by her fireplace.

The gentleman in question could be accused of purposefully keeping his gaze on the coals and not resting it on any of the occupants in the room. If he did, it is indeed doubtful that he will find any rest in any of their countenances.

“And so you made your mind to depart Neverland? And without Emma?”

“And what would you have had me do instead? Drag her here by the hair?”

“Liam!”

Elsa’s call for temperance is barely a breath but it visibly makes the man it is addressed towards stiffen and take stock of himself.

“I would have you spare no effort in preserving your brother’s good name and my dearest friend’s reputation in a time when he is incapable of doing so and she is clearly much too affected to.”

“In her own words,” Captain Jones continues in a measured tone. “Miss Swan is ‘not to be tested or trifled with’. At the time of my departure she had ordered out two maids and physically removed one from Killian’s room. I was likewise banned from entering long as my only purpose was to solicit her own exit. Only Doctor Whale has been allowed in and that after Miss Swan made sure to thoroughly question his qualifications and loyalties and very nearly make him swear an oath that should any harm befall Killian under his hands, he shall submit himself to an equal punishment under her own.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary-Margaret hides her face in her hands much as she would probably like to hide some of her dear friend’s actions.

“I do not know if you have the dubious pleasure of knowing the good doctor. He is indeed a capable professional but hardly the bravest of heart and I have had to double his fee to convince him to keep treating Killian. Under the watchful eye of Miss Swan, of course.”

“So she is with your brother now?”

Miss Elsa furrows her elegant brows in an obvious attempt to reconcile what she is hearing with what could possibly be allowed to be.

“She was for the entirety of the five hours we spent under his roof together. I have no doubt that my departure of all things has not driven her away.”

While Captain Jones seems to have accepted his fate and the situation at hand, Miss Elsa is readily gathering herself, her feverish eyes already planning ahead.

“We are to leave right away and fetch her. This must not be-“

“Oh, enough, enough!”

Miss Anna suddenly launches herself out of the couch where it was assumed by everyone present that she was finally taking a long-overdue nap.

“Have you no shame?! No shame at all!”

“Anna,” the elder Miss Froster’s voice is all ice and no sympathy for her sister in that moment – which seems to suit the younger girl just fine as she turns her defiant gaze on her closest and dearest. “You of all people-“

“Yes, _I._ I of all people, Elsa!”

Miss Anna takes a deep breath, succeeding in catching the eye of every person in the room in the process. It is perhaps for the first time that her audience awaits the stream of words that is to come out of her with trepidation rather than fond indulgence.

“I – the girl who is at the very root of all this.”

“Anna, you did _not_ -“

“The girl who so easily gave her heart and her word when she had been given neither in return.”

Miss Elsa has stopped trying to interrupt. And Mr and Mrs Nolans’ eyes have filled with the sadness of persons in possession of what another has been so cruelly denied.

“The girl who made a fool of herself and her family – her _sister_ and her aunt, to such an extent that nothing but the most drastic of measures could...”

“You did not even know-“

“No, indeed, I didn’t, Elsa. I didn’t know that you had shared my… my predicament with the good captains.”

Her steading breath is nothing if not unsteady and the way she wipes her running nose is nothing if not undignified but Miss Anna soldiers on.

“For as foolish and naïve as you all think me to be – oh, do not argue – for as foolish and naïve as I have _proven_ to be, I am not fool enough to be blind to the fact that this gentleman would do anything to ensure your happiness and peace of mind.”

Her hand is shaking as she waves it at the captain in question but it makes him blanch no less for it.

“That was _your_ blunder and ill-judgement and perhaps, if you were to sometimes take stock of your feelings and not be quite so stoic and not expect and force all those around you to be so as well…”

Her sister takes the blame half-thrown at her feet by raising her chin and standing tall on those same feet.

“You can blame me as harshly as you please, Anna, it will not be harsher than I blame myself, but there is no need to go into the personal affairs of-“

“But you shan’t have it all, sister. That is just the thing. You will have to share your blame with me and you will have to share it with Captain Jones, standing there and wishing _he_ wasn’t foolish enough to not see that his brother will never let him put himself in harm’s way.”

“I did-“

“And you shall share it with Killian himself for being the reckless and stubborn man that we all had only heard tales of and never seen before. And, most of all, you shall share it with that treacherous bastard-“

“Anna!”

“That turns before the count of three and shoots his gun into his opponent’s back like the lowliest of cowards. That horrid, cursed-“

“ _Anna_!”

“Days! Mere days ago I wanted to marry a man who would behave in such a way at a duel with the most honourable of men!”

It is the first moment that silence reigns supreme in the room as everybody wishes but nobody is capable of denying the lady’s words or the dire circumstances that they have brought about. But Anna regains possession of herself – now that she has found her voice and the strength to raise it, she is clearly determined to say her piece.

“We shall all share and carry our bit of blame. But do not dare stand around and hide from it behind the supposed misdeeds of the one person that has done no wrong. For Emma saw through and rejected Mr Cassidy in the way I should have done Mr Islington. Emma saw through my dear sister and the esteemed captain and tried to steer them off their path of willful ignorance and pretense. Emma, I’m sure, would’ve been able to talk some sense into Killian and Emma would have never trusted Hans Islington with a gun in his hand. Emma has no share of our blame.”

Miss Anna looks around the room but this time no one is able to tear their gaze from the intricate carpet or the glowing ambers to meet her indignation.

“Yet Emma is the one paying the price.”

“My brother-“

“I am forever indebted to, Captain Jones,” Anna interrupts with the sudden somberness and manner of one speaking their audience’s language simply for the sake of being understood. “He has been abominably mistreated and I wish he would not have to suffer the consequence of all our mistakes. But do not for a second believe that every bit of pain your brother feels, Miss Swan doesn’t feel twice over. Why, she is there _to_ feel his pain. And to appease it however she can. Can any of us say the same?”

///

It is perhaps truly her lack of guilt that allows Miss Swan to sit by Captain Jones’s bedside while everyone else’s remorse is too heavy to be dragged in there. But we must not put it past this lady that her actions would’ve followed the same general path in any situation that ended up with the present result.

That being a feverish, bed-ridden Killian Jones with a bullet hole in his back and a matching one on his right shoulder.

“Your brother is probably gathering her Majesty’s forces right this moment to have me escorted out.”

She mutters half to herself, half to the man beside her as she wipes away the sweat from his brow.

“I expected no less, of course. But if _you_ try to give me grief for this…”

Killian either strongly disagrees or is fighting another hot wave because his response is to try and rid himself of all his blankets at once.

“Alright, alright.”

Emma pulls the covers down to his waist and tries to still his movements, chastising him half in agitation and half in fear as she recalls him pulling one of his stitches earlier. She runs her fingers over the large bandage on his chest, barely making contact, but grows bolder as her hand trails down his left arm and stops over the scars she has never been allowed to see – let alone touch – before.

In the years they have known each other, she could easily count the number of times she has touched Killian Jones on her hands. She could count the number of times she has touched his left arm and need no fingers at all for the task, and she could do the same with the number of times she has touched – or even seen – a man without his shirt on.

She draws a hesitant circle around a deep scar on the inside of his wrist and wonders exactly how furious he would be with her when he wakes up.

“Emma?”

It is that thought that can probably account for the gasp and terrified look in her eyes as she looks up and into the clouded blue eyes of her patient.

“Goodness,” her free hand flies to her chest but the other one has only taken firmer purchase of his stump. “Killian.”

It takes the startled lady a few heartbeats and blinks of her eyes and probably a good number more heartbeats and blinks from the injured man, trying to come to his senses, before she seems to take proper stock of the situation – rushing to sit closer by his head, her trembling hands now finding themselves in his hair.

“Killian. Are you- How- How are you feeling?”

“Wh-What on earth…”

The captain’s eyes seem to blink him in and out of existence as he tries to make sense of the situation and sensations coursing through him – certainly not at all aided by the proximity of the lady sitting on his bed.

“You were shot. Doctor Whale took the bullet out. He said if you manage to sweat your fever out, you’d pull through.”

Her voice trembles and stumbles over the words even as her tone expresses her fierce indignation at the doctor’s insinuation that there was any other possible outcome from this.

“Islington won?” this with honest surprise and the creeping treads of shame.

“Cheated,” and this with barely restrained fury and not-at-all-restrained disgust.

“That little-“

But Captain Jones would probably endevour to be a gentleman even on his deathbed and we are becoming thankfully confident that this is not to be said deathbed after all. Miss Swan however seems nothing short of amused at his attempts to avoid insulting her with inappropriate language.

“I assure you, you cannot possibly call him anything I have not already.”

“And I find myself hard pressed to doubt that.”

Killian’s eyes flit around the room, finally noticing the intimate setting.

“And my brother?”

Miss Swan stiffens and straightens her spine the slightest bit as she delivers her reply.

“It would appear the only thing he could bear less than not being present was my being so.”

“But he is alright?”

Emma looks in confusion at the worry in his voice before her gaze softens impossibly and her hand comes back to his left wrist.

“He is fine. He was never in any danger of not being so. Which we all believe was the point of this inexcusable display of foolishness and recklessness and-”

But her gesture of comfort seems to completely take the gentleman’s attention away from her cross words and even as he nods in relief at her words, he pulls his forearm away and tries to rise himself in bed.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Miss Swan naturally tries to restrain him without exercising too much strength on his weakened self.

“I believe I should be the one asking that question?” is the only reply she receives as Captain Jones concedes to lying back in bed but not to having her hands anywhere on his person.

“Oh, goodness, are you going to request a priest as well?”

“A priest?”

“Why, yes, your brother assured me that as captain he could serve as one.”

“Was I truly in that critical a state?”

Miss Swan furrows her brows, trying to puzzle out his meaning before she finally draws her conclusions and blushes at his having so misunderstood hers.

“Oh, no. Not… not quite so. Though enough to have us all quite…”

It is the captain’s gaze that finally clears and softens over the lady, hesitant as he obviously is to misinterpret her deep agitations and concern.

“Surely I was in no need of a priest quite yet then?” he says in a light tone even as he licks his chapped lips and settles deeper into his pillows.

Emma is either extremely observant, attuned to her patient’s needs or simply in need of doing something for she is quick to fetch him a glass of water and adamant – despite his hot protests – to hold it up for him.

“It was not for the sake of your soul that he was preaching but for the impropriety of my presence, I believe,” she clarifies her meaning while putting things away and skillfully, if not subtly, avoiding the captain’s eyes. “Thought he should quickly make me mistress of the house, if I was to give orders in it.”

“Ah, I see… well, you should have simply told the old fool that there could be no state critical enough that you’d tie yourself to me so.”

It is one of his less dry attempts at jest and Emma is sure that she would have begrudgingly appreciated it at any other time. But as things stood at present, Miss Swan did not at all appreciate the trifling tone towards herself, the belittling one towards his own self and the dismissive one towards the whole imagined affair all wrapped in Killian’s words.

“Many people accuse me of disagreeableness and insolence, Captain. But I make it a point to not give them the opportunity to accuse me of dishonesty.”

Captain Killian Jones’s sad and tired eyes immediately sparkle to attention, not only because of the lady’s words but due to the tone of her voice and the way it wavered towards the end. Certainly an unusual circumstance for Miss Swan and certainly not one he had ever wished to be the cause of.

But the lady herself now does her very best to keep her distance and her face angled away just so.

“If you do not need anything else at present,” she continues rather properly. “I’ll go see for some food, doctor Whale said-“

“I do. I do need something else.”

Much as she might wish to preserve herself and her emotions, Miss Swan is unable to ignore this. Indeed, if she had ever been able to avoid Captain Jones’ needs, she wouldn’t have found herself in her current predicament at all.

“Yes?”

She seems to gather herself as she turns back to him but not well enough to fully face the open and hopeful confusion on his face.

“I need you – and I assure you I am perfectly aware of the impudence of my request – to come back and endevour to be honest where you claim you did not have the heart to be _dis_ honest.”

But Miss Swan just clenches her teeth and her hands that were so recently on that same gentleman that she is now trying to keep a respectable distance from.

“I have known you to be many things, Captain, but a cruel man has never been one of them.”

“And I can promise you that I would sooner turn my own gun on myself than be cruel to you.”

“I believe you have had enough guns turned on you for the present time.”

It is the gentleman’s own folly that he lets out a chuckle at that, which rattles his torn shoulder, but it is perhaps not such a folly since it draws the fair lady back to his side, even if her look is one of the utmost impatience and lack of all amusement.

“I concur, Miss Swan.”

Emma is quick to take her gaze away when it holds his for too long but she remains by his bed much like she had for the last untold hours.

“And as for my non-critical state?”

“What do you wish to hear?”

“I am grateful that you phrased your question so. For I am perhaps neither deserving nor entitled to hear it but I do so wish for the truth.”

“Very well then.”

It is hard for the casual observer to determine who is more surprised by the lady’s sudden bravery as she looks the man in front of her straight in the eye. Perhaps it is even hard for the two involved to tell.

“I was not to lie to your brother and tell him that I shall not have you in some state or other… when the truth is that I would have you in any state.”

Captain Jones is hardly given any time to absorb this information, which seems to turn his whole inner world upside-down, when Miss Swan is already moving for the door – quite probably in a rush to bring some order into her own devastated inner workings.

“Emma, I must inform you that, if you walk out that door, I take no responsibility in front of Doctor Whale or my brother _or you_ for getting up from this bed and following.”

For the moment that seems enough to bring the lady to a stop by the door.

“And, if you would be so kind as to come back here, I shall do my very best to be honest with you in return.”

And that seems enough to bring her back to the chair by his bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much to everyone who has left me feedback for this story - it really has been incredibly kind and thoughtful and means a lot. :))  
> This is the penultimate chapter to this little fic (and I can promise a lot more CS in the next - and last - one ;)

Being the kind of lady that takes surprising comfort in cold and sparsely decorated spaces, Miss Elsa takes her time walking down the narrow hallway. As her sister delighted in the sun’s rays on the walk over, so she now feels her heart and soul settle among the cooling stone of the old house.

It has been a charged, sizzling week for all of Mrs Ingrid Chillton’s charges.

_The youngest_

being the subject of much more attention and much more envy from other ladies – for it is enviable enough to be dueled over and exciting enough to overshadow any unsettling circumstances that might have brought about the duel to begin with – this to a degree that even Miss Anna’s usually sociable character was not entirely comfortable with, considering the repercussions of all these overromanticized scenes.

_The adopted_

being on the tongues of most of Storybrooke and, astonishingly enough, only a third of those exercising their imaginations over her current – prolonged and not at all well-concealed – stay at Neverland, while the rest dividing their energies between her recent refusal of one Mr Cassidy and the rumoured return and – even more puzzlingly – impending proposal of a Mr Humbert.

_The eldest_

having withdrawn herself from most society ever since her sister’s (mis)adventures and the resulting uproar in the Nolan’s and Jones’s households.

It is indeed with great reluctance that Miss Elsa has now made her way to Neverland – only after receiving a letter from Miss Swan that came as close to pleading as that lady has ever been and after being worked over and pleaded with by Miss Anna for some fresh air and fresher still society.

But the place itself bore no fault and rather settled Elsa’s nerves. Captain Killian Jones’s abode is neither grand, nor lavishly decorated but it is always incredibly well-kept and orderly and has a distinctive character – a certain strength about it – that Elsa has always admired and even defended against Emma’s complaints of everything being too stern and set ( _Why I can barely move around without worrying about “disrupting” something and being haunted by Jones’s aggravated sighs for the rest of the day.)_

Elsa lets her eyes slide over the modestly furnished sitting room and come to rest on the deep red carpet and the blonde woman sitting upon it, playing with an old black Labrador. Miss Swan certainly seems to have overcome any reserves she might have ever held against Neverland, its order and its master – if current events have been any indication. Or maybe it was the other way around – Neverland and everyone within succumbing to her transforming presence – Elsa muses, observing the bent spine of a book on the side table, the tea cup, placed precariously on its edge, and Emma’s scarf – throw carelessly over a chair and brushing over the floor.

“He seems quite willing to let you rule over the house,” Elsa mutters half to herself.

Miss Swan looks up at her friend’s unwillingly amused face and then returns her gaze to the dog licking her fingertips.

“Ah, it is all because I have spoilt him rotten and wrecked havoc on his diet.”

“Just as Anna is probably doing with the strawberries in the garden at this very moment. I do hope Captain Jones won’t mind terribly.”

The dismissive wave of Emma’s hand and its utter ease and familiarity do not go unnoticed and bring Elsa more anxiety than comfort.

“Would you sit? I can bring you some tea.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are well-aware of where the kettle is at this point.”

She thinks Emma’s sigh rather exaggerated, even given her penchant for dramatics.

“By all means, say your piece, so I can have my turn after.”

“Your actions paint a much better picture than my words ever could.”

“Do they now?”

“Indeed. Have you not been here a fortnight now?”

“That I have.”

“And did Captain Liam Jones not relocate to his own estate a full week prior?”

“I’m pleased to know that you are well-informed of the Captain’s whereabouts.”

“Don’t.”

It is the cold tone that stops Emma from making another teasing remark and the sparkle in her eye seems to have taken a bucket of cold water.

“And is it not that Captain Killian Jones was well enough to visit the Nolan’s three days ago?”

“I fail to see the purpose of your enquiries, Elsa, for you seem to possess all the intelligence there is to possess.”

“Oh, I should feel burdened indeed, if I did. Thankfully, that couldn’t be further from the truth. And, rest assured, I question everything that is presented to me as fact. Such as – you and the younger Captain Jones being inseparable in every sense of the word in all his comings and goings.”

“I’d be grateful indeed, if you were to question Captain Jones himself on the subject, seeing as he is not supposed to _have_ any goings about, according to Doctor Whale. And, yet, seeing as he has persisted in ignoring both medical advice and common sense, I have indeed taken it upon myself to see to it that he doesn’t faint and break his disagreeable head somewhere.”

“I am sure the gentleman would much contest his ability to go without such a devoted nurse and that his brother would be more than willing to procure a professional nurse, should he truly require such.”

“And have you consulted Liam on the topic or is this mere conjuncture on your part?”

Elsa stiffens as she feels the shift in conversation and rearranges her skirts where Smee has taken to snooping around them.

“Please, Emma. You are well-aware that I have chosen to give myself a respite from society.”

“Liam is not ‘society’.”

And with that Miss Froster is on her feet. But she is much mistaken, if she believes this will rescue her.

“Elsa, I do not understand,” Emma tries for an appeasing tone, her eyes searching for understanding in her friend’s averted gaze. “Aunt and Anna were at the Nolan’s just the other-“

“Yes, well, we must never underestimate our aunt and Anna’s admirable ability to face situations and then face them no longer when they are behind them.”

“And yet you are still staring back over your shoulder.”

“And yet you are still at Neverland and, according to half of Storybrooke, clinging to Captain Jones’s elbow as if _you_ are the one in danger of fainting and not he.”

Miss Swan’s back straightens and her head lifts in an admirable imitation of her namesake – poised and ready. It may never be known what she would have bit back, seeing as this is when the gentleman of the house finally makes his entrance.

“I can assure you, Miss Froster, of everyone in this room, I find myself the only one whose surefootedness can be put into question. Ah, and perhaps Mr Smee there, he does have quite a few years on me.”

Even Elsa’s perfectly pure complexion cannot help but take on a rosy hue at this.

“I beg your pardon, Captain, I did not mean-“

“Oh, I assure you, people who have insinuated that beautiful young women wish to cling to my arm are few and far in between and I hold no grudges against any of them.”

“I- still I shouldn’t… I’m sure my sister wishes to speak to you.”

Captain Jones’s little smile is as much a shock to Miss Froster as the light blush that takes over him – the novelty of both making her previous embarrassment but a mundane and quickly forgotten blunder.

“As a matter of fact, she already did, while plundering my garden. And I would be forever indebted to you, if you could perhaps sway Miss Anna on the matter of expressing her eternal… mm, gratitude and indebtedness to me every time we are in each other’s company.”

“Ah,” Elsa cannot help but smile at this. “I give you my word that I will submit your request to her most earnestly but… the result, as I am sure you can imagine, is in no way certain.”

“It is all I can ask of you,” the gentleman replies with a nod before turning to the other lady in the room. “As for you, Miss Swan-”

“Captain?”

Elsa narrows her eyes at the scene. She and Emma have had one too many contests, trying to read the subtle hints in otherwise unremarkable conversations in drawing rooms and ball halls – much for their own amusement, rather than as a means of acquiring the latest gossip. Now Elsa cannot help but notice the devilish sparkle in all pairs of eyes but her own, the way Emma turns around so she is facing Captain Jones.

“I believe Miss Anna, and my poor garden, would benefit greatly from your assistance.”

A silent moment of communication. It sends a small pang through Elsa. The Jones’s brothers differ in many ways but their expressive faces and ability to converse merely with their eyes is certainly a family trait and now she realizes with sudden clarity how much she misses.

Emma’s gaze fills with understanding and with the slightest of nods she gracefully raises to her feet and slips out of the room. Elsa does not miss the glance her friend sends her – somehow both insistent and imploring, and she certainly does not miss the way she fingertips brush Captain Jones’s shoulder on her way out.

“Miss Froster, I do not know what headway Emma has made, if any.”

Elsa is sure that the confusion will set in soon enough but at present she is much too distracted. She could swear on her honour that she has never once, in all their time of knowing each other, heard Captain Jones address Miss Swan in such a familiar manner.

“I… I’m not sure what you are referring to.”

“I’m referring to your self-appointed exile as both your friend and sister have taken to calling it.”

Miss Elsa is not the type of lady that allows herself to scoff. But then, Captain Jones is not the type of gentleman that refers to ladies by their first name with an easy grin on his face. So this is how she finds herself sinking back onto the soft sofa behind her, her hand finding Smee’s silky fur.

“Captain-“

“I’m referring, if I must be frank, to your refusal to see my brother, whether by appointment or accident.”

“I assure you, my behavior towards your brother has not been particular in the least-“

“And that is precisely the issue that I wish to address.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Killian seems to lose some of his confidence and good humour and he sinks into the chair opposite her with some difficulty. Elsa makes to rise and assist him but he waves her off with a slightly pained smile.

“No, no, please, let me exercise the freedom to move by myself while Emma is engaged with your sister.”

Try as she might, Elsa can’t help but smile at that. Though her little slip does not last long.

“Surely you must realize that her stay here and your… this situation is not doing either of your reputations any favours.”

“Oh, I thought just as you do, I assure you. But my reputation has long been beyond salvaging. And Miss Swan has had to refute two marriage offers in only so many weeks so it would seem her “reputation” – or perhaps her fortune and good name – much more resilient than we thought.”

Miss Froster’s eyes widen despite herself. Surely, she hasn’t been _that_ sheltered from everything happening in Storybrooke. She stayed rather informed on anything that had to do with Emma and their close acquaintances. Surely, her aunt would know if-

“ _Two?_ ” it is a shriek, or as close to one as Miss Elsa Froster has ever come.

“Indeed.”

Any other day, she would call the Captain’s small grin pained, yet he still seems much too relaxed for Emma’s possible nuptials to have caused him any real discomfort.

“Have gentlemen flocked to _your_ house to propose to her?”

Killian chuckles lowly.

“I have no doubt Mr Cassidy would have had no qualms about doing so but he seems to prefer his rejections not so very personal. As it is, Mr Humbert very skillfully seized the chance he was presented with when we were at the Nolan’s estate.”

“So the rumours were true that he intended to…”

“I am assured he very much did.”

“And Emma…”

At this Captain Jones shifts his gaze to the colourful carpet and reaches for his ear in a sign of mild discomfort.

“Well, I’m sure she would much rather share the details herself.”

“Yes, of course.”

Elsa doesn’t know what Emma would rather do or not do but she will most certainly have to explain how she has been propositioned on multiple occasions and yet finds herself in the house of a man who is not said to be among the list of wish-to-be husbands.

“But Miss Swan’s recent handling of marriage proposals is not the question I wished to discuss with you.”

“Captain Jones, surely you must know how much I value your friendship and your council, and the sacrifices you have made for my family… I could never thank you enough for… So I hope that you can trust my own judgement in return.”

“I do. I would trust few people’s judgement more than your own, Miss Froster. Well, perhaps Mrs Nolan’s.”

Elsa smiles at that and feels herself relax. Perhaps this is not the ambush she was expecting after all.

“But, due to recent events, I have discovered that… sometimes we shy away from things that, if we knew their true nature, we’d embrace wholeheartedly.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Elsa, all I’m asking is that you consent to talk to my brother.”

Ice blue falls away from its imploring counterpart.

“I am not ready. I need time to… to prepare for what he has to say.”

“How can you, when you don’t know what that is?”

“I can imagine. After everything that happened – to you and-“

“I sincerely hope you do not hold yourself or anyone in your family accountable.”

“Who is accountable does not change the many altercations that were caused.”

“And if my brother and Emma are back to uniting forces to keep me as confided to my house as possible, I’m certain you can see how much has been put to rest.”

“Oh, but their tempers and tantrums burn out sooner than they have been set off and you know it.”

“Indeed. In that we are in perfect agreement. But, I hope I have proven myself less prone to outbursts and flights of fancy.”

“Well, there was this one incident recently…” Elsa cannot help but point out but then- “Of course, you have.”

“And I hope… you could trust me on this.”

How the lady would have responded to his heartfelt request, the Captain will never know because it was now Miss Swan’s turn for a timely interruption.

“Your sister is waiting for you outside,” Emma announces from the doorway. “If my powers of deduction are still sharp, she has had her fill of Killian’s strawberries.”

Elsa gets to her feet and narrows her pale eyes, first at her closest friend and then at her host.

“I guess it is time we go. But perhaps we could see, if my own powers of deduction still match yours, dear Emma.”

There is some small degree of suspicion in Miss Swan’s eyes but there is amusement as well, the thrill and joy of having her friend and confidant back perhaps, or perhaps… a certain eagerness to hear what she has so cleverly deduced.

“And seeing how you have both applied to my trust and good nature, I’m sure you will be fair and candid with me in turn.”

Elsa sees out of the corner of her eye the Captain’s slight movement, the way he must surely be looking at Emma right now. But Emma is still smiling and Elsa, despite it all, can’t help but grin back as she asks.

“So are you or are you not engaged to be married to Captain Jones here?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who went on this ride with me (your feedback and love gave me a huge boost in the completion of this little endeavour) and to everyone who might decide to do so now that it is complete (I know wips are scary af). Hope you like this! ;)

The ceremony is beautiful and far enough from modest to satisfy the groom and the bride’s family but not so far as to aggravate the bride herself. All of Storybrooke is abuzz with news and gossip, genuine happiness and only mild surprise for weeks before and after the wedding. The bride’s dress is brought all the way from Arendelle. The flowers are only in bloom in that particular month. The cakes – oh, Mrs Lucas will talk anyone’s ear off about the cakes for months to come.

Mrs Chillton looks 15 years younger. Mr and Mrs Nolan have been all too eager to lend their superior knowledge and experience. Miss Anna has barely slept for more than 6 hours out of sheer excitement.

And Mrs Elsa Jones would’ve scolded her but she is much too happy and much too busy dissuading her husband from any grandiose and imprudent honeymoon ideas.

Miss Swan and Captain Jones are involved both in the ceremony and in assisting with said imprudent ideas but not quite so busy as not to be able to throw many knowing looks and smug smiles at the bride and groom.

And that would probably be a high note on which to leave our characters to their celebrations. But as it is we have one more story to tell. The story of Miss Emma Swan and her hand much desired in marriage as it turned out.

_5 weeks before Captain Liam Jones and Miss Elsa Froster’s wedding_

“The audacity!”

She drops the letter on his desk and plunges in the chair across from it with all the grace that Killian has come to expect from Miss Emma Swan in the last week of cohabitation with her.

“Am I to take it that you have taken the liberty of going through my correspondence or that you are requesting that I read yours?”

“You don’t _have_ a correspondence.”

“I assure you Commander Nemo and I are very particular about our annual Christmas cards.”

“How personal. Please do look at this so you can share my outrage.”

Jones picks up the discarded letter, then makes to rise to get his glasses, only to find Emma already thrusting them in his face. Exasperation and fondness – it would make a good title for a memoir about life around Emma Swan.

He takes the glasses and ignores her satisfied little grin as he quickly glides over the lines on the single page. It is not a long letter and it is not a particularly good one, especially if it is supposed to be what it appears to be.

And Captain Jones cannot help but feel a spike of irritation – dare he call it jealousy – at the possessive manner in which another man sees fit to address the woman across from him. For a moment, he wonders if inciting his jealousy is, at least in part, the very purpose of him being shown the letter.

But he finds that the part of him that was conceited enough to believe so once upon a time has grown rather old and wary of making such assumptions. So he makes a point of keeping his expression neutral and his voice even when he finally looks back at Miss Swan.

“It is a proposal, if I am not much too rusty to recognize one.”

The way she rolls her eyes around all the time is definitely not befitting of a lady but it tugs at the corners of his mouth all the same.

“Not the most passionate or well-worded one I can imagine,” he cannot help but add.

“Passionate – as if it can be passionate!” and like that Miss Swan is back on her feet. “I have seen this man all of four times in my life!”

“You must admit people marry on much less.”

“Three times then?”

He does not laugh but it is a near thing and that is just the magic of Emma he has come to realize and grown rather comfortable with that realization.

“That, substantial fortunes and the appropriate positions in society on both sides.”

“Oh. Oh, now that you mentioned it… why, I must accept, mustn’t I? What shall I ever do, if I do not take my ‘appropriate positions in society’? How shall I live?”

Killian does his best to remain unmoved and unamused in the face of her fluttering eyelashes.

“Took it a bit too far at the end there.”

Emma huffs in exasperation and sits back down, snatching the letter from his loose fingers.

“I swear I am never to understand the way men think.”

“Usually it is along the lines of ‘beautiful woman and a sizable income equals marriage’. Not the most sophisticated logic I admit but…”

“Was she rich?”

He looks at her in confusion.

“Your wife.”

“Ah,” Captain Jones strokes a hand down his beard – slightly longer than usual – something should be done about it, perhaps tomorrow, before their walk. “Her family was. But her family did not approve of me very much. At the start. Or at the end, come to think of it.”

“But she was in love.”

“I would like to think so.”

“Of course she was.”

He realizes he has dropped his eyes to where his shirtsleeve hangs around his wrist. Brace and all has proven too much of a hassle for one with a bullet hole inside him. And Emma has been much too insistent on him not leaving the grounds and not needing his whole ‘armour’ on when in his own home.

His stomach is churning painfully for some unidentifiable reason.

But then he looks up and she is all soft, golden curls falling from her braids and ever softer eyes and the kind of smile that he hadn’t really seen on Emma’s face before he came to consciousness to find it hovering over him a week ago.

His insides settle and he tries to shake his head at her but his face has certainly betrayed him twice over by now. Especially given her next words.

“I think you should help me pen my rejection, Captain. Might lend it some diplomacy.”

_4 weeks before Captain Liam Jones and Miss Elsa Froster’s wedding_

This time is infinitely harder. This time she has known him for years – years ago but she remembers the fondness she had for him in her early teenage years all too well. This time he is in front of her and he is earnest and hopeful and a little nervous. This time she looks inside and tries to move away the brashness and exasperation and find her own diplomacy and understanding tucked somewhere for safekeeping. This time when she says no – because there is simply nothing else she can say, no hope she can possibly give – she can see the way his face falls, the way his eyes dim and flit away from hers, his hands dropping the one he had so ardently asked her for.

“I see. And if I were to ask again in a month or even a year-“

“Mr Humbert.”

“No. I understand… But if time is what you need-”

“It is not a question of time. I… well, given the time, I hope… That is I am to… I don’t think you will be able to ask in a year. I hope.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to curse under her breath the way a lady should not even curse in her head. If people could stop asking her to marry them, it would be of great help. She has some things of her own to think over and execute and ask and hopefully achieve the desired results.

“Oh. I… I was led to believe that you rejected Mr Cassidy. I deeply apologize, if-“

“I did reject _Mr Cassidy_ ,” she says it in the mocking tone that she only allows herself in front of Elsa or Killian – much to their consternation. “His offer was preposterous and his assumption that it will be received favourably doubly so.”

“But then perhaps after some time to consider the merits of marriage-“

“Graham, I do wish to be married! Just not...”

“To me.”

She tries not to flinch.

“It’s not that. It’s not… it’s just… someone else.”

The gentleman’s brows draw together and for a fleeting moment his lips twitch and Emma knows with perfect certainty that he thinks she is playing a joke on him.

Neal Cassidy is one thing. Neal Cassidy might have money aplenty and his father might be a magistrate but he also has a reputation of caring little for what people say and, what truly matters to Emma, how people feel – even people supposedly close and dear to him.

But Mr Humbert is a man of indisputable character, fine manners, fine fortune and an even finer looks. He is young, pleasant and by all expectations should not want to settle to family life so early on. He is, to put it simply, the most coveted bachelor in Storybrooke, perhaps in the whole county.

And Emma is the ridiculous girl who has apparently seen fit to reject him. For someone else.

 

 

“Stranger things have happened.”

“You should tell Mary Margaret that.”

Instinctively Emma turns her head to the side, to try and catch a glimpse of their gracious host in the beautiful gazebo but her and Captain Jones seem to have walked much too far into the Nolan’s luscious gardens and her vision is obscured by far too many roses red as blood.

She is just about to scold the gentleman beside her – who is not supposed to be walking around at all, her hand tightening around his forearm and her eyes narrowing on his profile when-

“She was quite adamant that I tell her right away, if it is a promise to me that is holding you back from Mr Humbert.”

“Wha-“

“Not to worry, I told her that she should know I have more sense than that.”

Once, when Emma was about 6 years old and skating over their favourite lake with Elsa, she heard the ice crack under her and in the next second she was in the water.

It felt a lot like this.

She pulls her arm away from Killian and steps to the side, there’s noise in her ears and her body feels like it did all those years ago – like she is not giving it enough air. Jones keeps going for another meter or two before he stops and looks back at her in confusion.

“Swan?”

It would probably be better, if her first – or second or at least third – thought was that it was all fine, she could just turn around, go back to the garden party, take Mr Humbert to the side and accept his incredibly enticing proposal.

But Emma doesn’t think of that. She doesn’t think about much of anything other than the fact that she is a complete and utter fool. And, frustratingly enough, that Jones should really get off his feet already. So she focuses on that.

“We should head back. Liam is going to have my head for letting you go this far out.”

“Wait, wait, what-“

“I think we should rejoin the party, Captain Jones.”

She watches him draw back as if _she_ is the one that slapped _him_ in the face.

“Emma, what-“

And she can’t help it. How dare he look at her like that. _How dare he._

“And you, being the man of sense that you are, surely must be tired of the company of a silly girl and all her silly problems.”

He opens his mouth to respond but, much to her relief, quickly snaps it shut. Much to her distress, however, he decides to move closer instead, his hand reaching out for her.

“Emma, surely you don’t think- I did not mean-“

“That you were gravely offended at the mere suggestion that you might have expressed an interest in being engaged to me?”

“Of course not!”

Emma takes a step back and watches his hand fall along with his features. She crosses her arms over her chest protectively.

“Then what, pray tell, did you find so offensive to your sensibilities in Mrs Nolan’s remark?”

She says it in a deliberately haughty tone and is almost glad when she sees it achieve the desired effect – the Captain’s eyes blazing and his nostrils flaring as his hand curls into a fist at his side.

“I _meant_ rather the opposite to what the lady has decided to conjecture. I _meant_ that I have more sense than to believe that you would settle so far below your stature, were I to ask such a question.”

And Emma can’t quite help herself, can’t refrain from throwing her arms in the air and almost growling at the damnable man in front of her.

Oh, _he_ was the complete and utter fool.

“We’ve been through this! I already told you that I would _very much_ have you, you insufferable-“

She presses her lips together hard and tries to regain some measure of control over herself. It’s hard when he responds with utter confusion and a painfully pinched brow.

“That was not… That is to say, it was clear that, given the dire circumstances-“

“Yes, because dire circumstances are known to make women partial to matrimony.”

“Are they not?”

“No, Killian, no. _Love_ makes women partial to matrimony.”

“Oh.”

Emma lets her arms unfold and finally does away with the space between them. Her hands settling on his shoulders and sliding down to hold his hands – real and wooden.

“And I don’t mean to sound impatient but given recent events-“ she cuts off and hurries to add. “I don’t mean to sound conceited either but-“

“Miss Swan, are you… propositioning me?”

She tries to keep her expression serious, she truly does, but Killian’s eyes are twinkling and his eyebrow is going up and so are the corners of his mouth and after all she _is_ propositioning him and she does not seem to be in the least bit embarrassed about it.

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Would you- Do I have to ask Liam first?”

“Swan-“

“Would you marry me, Killian?”

She is rather proud of how steady her voice comes out, how she looks him in the eyes – his very wide, very blue eyes. He seems rather proud as well.

“Only you, Emma Swan, would receive multiple offers of marriage in the span of a single week and proceed to make one of your own.”

“I was hoping mine would be a smidge more successful.”

Captain Jones sways closer, now completely in her personal space, her breasts almost brushing the buttons of his vest.

“If I were still a betting man, I’d say it would be an astounding success.”

_3 months after Captain Liam Jones and Miss Elsa Froster’s wedding_

Perhaps the younger Captain Jones should’ve indeed put money on that bet, he does turn out to be absolutely right.

The ceremony is as unconventional as the mysterious proposal that everyone seems to have a different opinion for – held on a windy beach on an only partially sunny afternoon, it satisfies the sensibilities of no one but the bride and groom. Hardly anyone but the groom’s brother and his wife know of the whole thing before it is already happening. The bride’s dress is picked by the bride alone at a time equally unknown. Flowers are needed only for her bouquet and picked single-handedly by the groom the day before. There is no cake. There is some rum. Mostly to warm up anyone who finds the sea spray and breeze hard to bare.

Mrs Chillton is somewhat put out by the short notice and the inability to invite any of her friends and acquaintances but much placated by the sheer joy on the bride’s face as she waves her into the carriage. Mr and Mrs Nolan are equally baffled but much easier to be prevailed upon – given Mr Nolan’s predisposition to cheerfulness and Mrs Nolan’s penchant for romantic and spontaneous gestures but mostly thanks to the groom’s very persuasive and excited manner, rumoured to have been unseen in years. Miss Anna is taken with the whole idea and beyond delighted to be whisked away to the mysterious ceremony close to sunset.

Miss Emma Swan and Captain Killian Jones are said to have never been in higher spirits and that by the older Captain and Mrs Jones, said to know them best of all.

In the first year of their marriage it is believed that they are rather an unlikely pair and thus unlikely to be much too happy together.

By year two, they are believed to be rather inconsiderate and verging on scandalous with the amount of times that Mrs Jones sees fit to display her affection for her husband in rather public places and gatherings and with the amount of invitations for more such gatherings that Captain Jones feels justified in refusing in order to take his wife to the seaside or to “reorder their library” as he dares put it to some of their closer friends.

By year three Mrs Emma Jones and her husband have surprisingly little time to shower their twin nephews with gifts and affection – a practice much encouraged by the older Captain Jones and for reasons completely unimaginable to the other three labelled as “spoiling” by Mrs Elsa Jones – and this mostly due to the fact that they have provided the other Joneses with a niece of their own to “spoil”.

To this day Mrs Emma Jones is rumoured to have actually put a curse of sorts on a lady who insinuated that she had been extremely foolish to accept Captain Jones when she had much more becoming offers made to her. The legend of exactly how many gentlemen she had refused while waiting for the Captain to propose has taken on a life of its own – from some stating that no such offers had been made at all to other whispering of numbers in the dozens – all this resulting in much undignified eyerolling from the lady in question and quite a bit of amusement and preening from her husband.

To this day Captain Killian Jones is rumoured to propose to his wife anew every year to “reaffirm her willingness” and pledge his own, much to the sighs and flutterings of the young ladies of Storybrooke and the groans and muttering of gentlemen who are being more and more often asked by their wives why they have been proposed to only once.

But Emma, when among their friends and family, takes extraordinary pride and delight in stating that Jones can propose as often as he wishes – she’d accept every time, but he should never forget who did it first.

Captain Jones doesn’t seem to mind his wife’s boasting one bit.


End file.
